


No Place To Go

by Shunters



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Whump, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blood and Injury, Branding, Broken Bones, Bruises, But he’s also in love, Creepy Murdoc (MacGyver TV 2016), Enemies to Lovers, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Hurt Murdoc, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kidnapped Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), M/M, Tags May Change, This is either gonna be slow burn or spontaneous combustion, Torture, Waterboarding, Whipping, Whump, Whumptober 2020, idk how graphic it is or will be, murdoc whump, no beta we die like men, no non-con, or really Enemies to Allies to Lovers, there’s no in between
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27215839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shunters/pseuds/Shunters
Summary: Mac wakes up in the hands of the enemy, kidnapped on an undercover op. With the Phoenix team out of reach, he has no choice but to rely on an unlikely ally. Murdoc. As the two work together to escape their shared cage, buried feelings come to light and change the nature of their relationship forever. Unfortunately for them, escape is much easier said than done when you're a prisoner in The Butcher's Hotel.
Relationships: Angus MacGyver/Murdoc (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 63
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Let’s Hang Out Sometime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s not much to warn about in this chapter, I don’t think. It was inspired by whumptober 2020 prompt number 1 (‘let’s hang out sometime’: waking up restrained | shackled | hanging) and there’s some fade to black implied torture.

Mac woke, shivering in the frigid air. Everything hurt. His head was stuffed with cotton, thoughts muddled and slower than they should be- _drugs_ , he thought- and his neck ached fiercely from an awkward sleeping position. Something hard was digging into his wrists, hands numb from his blood flow being restricted. His shoulders, though, they were the worst. They throbbed from being in the same position for so long- _too long. How long? Hours? Days?_ \- sending spikes of pain rushing down his back.

The world was silent around him, nary a whisper of a footstep or distant voice to notify him of his kidnappers’ whereabouts. He took the chance to open his eyes to slits, trying to gather as much information as he could without alerting anyone that might be watching him. He couldn’t see much.

His feet were bare, which explained why they were so cold, his toes resting against the rough cement floor. The floor itself was a monotone grey, only marred by the occasional suspicious stain.

Deciding there was nothing he could garner from the small patch of floor he could see, Mac slowly lifted his head, fighting back a wince at his sore neck.

The rest of the room was not much more informative, truth be told. The floor sloped slightly towards the centre, close to where Mac was suspended, a drain of some kind lying only a few feet from him. The walls were grey, none of them possessing windows, though the one directly across from him did contain a door. As well as a mirror. _That_ was certainly interesting. He’d been kidnapped more than anyone rightly should have been, and Mac had yet to come across a torture chamber with a mirror. Perhaps it was for psychological torture, he thought, maybe watching himself be tortured was supposed to make it worse somehow. Or, perhaps it was meant to function like the one-way mirrors found in law enforcement interrogation rooms. Maybe his kidnappers were involved with corrupt or ex-law enforcement officers.

Letting his unconscious mind ponder that, Mac reclined his head back further, eyeing the heavy metal shackles around his wrists. He moved his hands carefully, trying to restore some blood flow as his eyes followed the chains to the high ceiling. It would be some work to loosen the chains, but it could probably be done if he had enough time.

Footsteps echoed from outside the room and Mac gripped the chains tightly in his hands, steeling himself for whatever awaited him.

The door opened with a juddering creak, the hinges screaming and sending shivers down his spine. It was probably designed to do just that.

Shoes- _black, oxfords, likely expensive_ \- stepped through the doorway and Mac lifted his eyes, trying to gather as much intel as he could before meeting his captor’s gaze with a dark glare.

“Hello, Fifteen,” the man- _the Butcher, aka Adam Turner_ \- smiled benignly, looking every inch the generous millionaire he masqueraded himself as. “Shall we begin?”

Another man, taller, more musclebound- _a hired thug, presumably_ \- stepped into the room behind Turner, cracking his knuckles in a stereotypical bad-guy move.

The door swung shut, the harsh clang ringing with a finality Mac refused to think about.

* * *

When his torturers were done with him, Mac was dragged, stumbling, away from his interrogation room and down the hall. The cold, grey walls on either side of him were broken only occasionally by filthy metal bars, giving him glimpses into the cells that made up the underground prison he had been taken to. Other prisoners, bloody and beaten, were caged behind the bars, two to a cell.

He memorised the route from the torture room to what he presumed was to be his very own prison cell. He took note of the few doors he couldn’t identify the purpose of- _more interrogation rooms? Offices for the guards? Or potential exit routes?_ \- and tried to form some semblance of an escape plan.

“Yes, this one will do,” Turner declared as he stopped and motioned to one particular cell, as though he were choosing a puppy.

The third guard, the only one with his hands free, pulled out a set of keys to open the door, the other two guards keeping their death grips firmly in place on Mac’s arms. The cell door creaked open. _‘Does everything here creak?’_ he wondered idly.

“Enjoy your stay, Fifteen,” Turner said with a sharp grin, cruel green eyes piercing into Mac’s soul, “it’s going to be a long one.”

Mac’s insides squirmed uncomfortably.

With a nod from Turner, the newest prisoner was tossed roughly into his new home.

* * *

Mac just barely got his arms up in time to prevent his face from smashing into the filthy floor. His knees weren’t as lucky, pain engulfing them as they took most of his weight from the fall. He lay there for a moment, silent as he tried to regain his breath. Several pairs of footsteps retreated from his cell and Mac allowed himself some measure of relief at that. Finally, he began to push himself up.

He had only made it to his forearms when he heard something. Clothes rustling, someone shifting their weight, measured footsteps. Someone crouched beside him and Mac pushed himself to his knees, ready to get his feet under him as he turned to assess who it was.

“Well, well, well, Angus, this certainly is a surprise.”

Those words came from an all too familiar voice and Mac knew exactly who he was trapped with before his eyes found his cellmate’s bruised face. There was no mistaking that voice.

“Murdoc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have to warn you all, dear readers, that updates will most likely be slow.


	2. Psych 101: Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Murdoc chat. Then it’s Murdoc’s turn to be tortured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s definitely more to warn about in this chapter. It was inspired by Whumptober prompt 11 (‘psych 101’: Defiance | Struggling) as well as alt prompt 12 (water). 
> 
> We’ve got a lot of casual violence, tasers, waterboarding, finger torture, biting people in a non-sexy way, some implied minor accidental blood ingestion as a result of said biting, and some fade-to-black implied whipping.

“Murdoc. What’re you doing here?” Mac asked, still hazy from the torture and only being thrown more off balance by the appearance of his nemesis. 

Murdoc moved forward, griping Mac carefully under the arms. A quiet but cheerful, “up you get,” was the only warning he got before Murdoc- somehow both gentler and rougher than the guards- hauled Mac to his feet. 

His head spun from the sudden change in altitude. He closed his eyes briefly, strangely grateful that Murdoc hadn’t released him just yet. Mac felt himself be tugged forward and opened his eyes, following where Murdoc was leading. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice. They were both locked inside the small cell together. There was nowhere to run. 

Murdoc’s hands pulled away from him as the assassin sat in the far corner of the room, atop a thin, plastic mattress. Mac shivered slightly as the warmth was taken away. Both of them were wearing nothing more than thin T-shirts and threadbare pants. The only difference in their outfits was the number 15 on Mac’s shirt and the number 14 on Murdoc’s. Mac wrapped his arms around his bruised torso, trying to conserve some heat. 

“Are you just going to stand there all day, Boyscout?” Murdoc asked, chipper as always. 

Mac’s brow furrowed, suspicions running through his mind. 

“Oh, relax, Angus,” Murdoc drawled with an exaggerated eye roll, “I’m not gonna kill you  _ here_. What good what that do me? I’d simply lose my only source of entertainment, aside from the monotonous torture, of course.” 

Mac huffed but sat against the same wall as Murdoc. He tried to keep some distance between them, though the cell didn’t allow for much. 

“Don’t be stubborn, Boyscout, sit on the mattress,” Murdoc told him. “I won’t bite. Unless you want me to,” he added with a devious grin. 

Mac rolled his eyes, but moved to sit on the inadequate mattress. It was cold in the cell and sitting on the frozen concrete floor would do nothing to help matters. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Mac stated as he shifted to face his new cellmate. “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, it’s simple really, I was hired to kill someone on the Butcher’s payroll but got ambushed before I could do the deed,” Murdoc explained with a too-cheerful grin, “and now they’re trying to torture me into confessing who hired me.” 

Mac frowned. He didn’t like the idea of Murdoc- of  _anyone_ \- being tortured. 

_"You_ got caught?” Mac asked, incredulous at the thought. 

Murdoc gave him a truly pleased grin. “Oh, Angus, you flatter me.” Mac rolled his eyes. “Getting caught was originally part of the plan.  _Clearly_ , things went sideways.” 

“How long have you been here?” Things had been oddly quiet from Murdoc since his last escape. Had he been here the whole time?

“What’s the date?”

“23rd October last I checked.” 

“Hm,” Murdoc hummed. “One week, four days, longer than I thought.” He’d only had about two weeks of freedom before getting kidnapped. Ouch. 

“What about you, then, my dear Angus, what did you do to get thrown in here? Mission gone wrong? Unsuccessful attempt to join the dark side? Fingers crossed for the latter.” 

“I was sent in to take down the Butcher’s organisation from the inside. I was deep cover, technically still am.” 

“So, I take it your little pals aren’t going to be storming the castle to rescue you anytime soon?” 

Mac shook his head. “It’s not likely. I checked in the day Turner’s men grabbed me, I’ve got at least three days before my team gets suspicious.” 

“Well then, I guess it’s up to us to get ourselves out.” 

“At the risk of inflating your ego further, why haven’t you escaped before now? Given what I’ve seen of you before, you’re clearly capable.” 

“While I’m _flattered_ you think so highly of me, Angus, this place is _much_ harder to escape than one might imagine.” 

What followed was a tale of Murdoc’s first- and, so far, only- escape attempt, which ended with the assassin gaining several bruised ribs, a concussion, a sprained wrist and a twisted ankle, while the Butcher lost a dozen men. 

Mac squinted down at the set of floor plansMurdoc had drawn in the dirt, brow furrowed as a vague plan began to take shape in his mind. “Do they have any kind of schedule? Any way to predict when there would be less guards in certain areas?” 

“The guards have set patrol routes, which I’m sure you’ll pick up on soon enough,” Murdoc replied, “but they change when they bring meals, when they collect which prisoner for torture and how long the interrogation lasts for.” 

“To keep us on edge, knowing they could be back at any minute, and to take away any sense of time,” Mac deduced grimly. 

“That would be my guess.” 

Footsteps sounded from the hallway- every sound in this place seemed to be amplified, carrying screams from far off rooms- and Murdoc was quick to scrub away any evidence of the plans. Mac tensed, forcing himself to breathe normally as he waited to see what would happen next. The footsteps grew ever closer, the tension in the cell thick enough to be cut with a knife. 

Finally, the person stopped. They were right outside the cell. Mac shifted subtly, prepared to jump up and fight if he had to. 

Scraping echoed in the room as several objects were pushed into the cell from beneath the cage door. Two bowls and two plastic cups. 

“Oh goodie!” Murdoc exclaimed, “lunch is here!” 

Murdoc pushed himself up and sauntered across the room to pick up a bowl and a cup. Mac followed suit, figuring there wouldn’t be much point in poisoning the food if their captors wanted information from them. He retreated back to the relative safety of his corner of the mattress once he had his bowl and cup. 

He grimaced as he saw that the bowl contained some off-white substance which looked an awful lot like a watered down version of the nutriloaf he remembered from his undercover prison days. 

“Eat up, Boyscout,” Murdoc encouraged, gesturing toward Mac’s bowl with a spoonful of his own food. “You never know when the next meal’s coming.” 

* * *

The next time the guards arrived at their cell, it wasn’t to deliver more mediocre food. There were five of them, all muscular and dangerous-looking, scowls on their faces and tasers in hand. Mac expected them to take him. They didn’t. 

They barely spared him a glance, in fact, as they headed straight for Murdoc. 

Murdoc, who merely shifted his back to the wall and grinned, all sharp teeth and zero friendliness as he stared down the gang of thugs. 

“Let’s play,” the assassin purred. 

The nearest guard lunged forward with their taser, but Murdoc dodged the attack, grabbing the guard’s hand and twisting until a crack echoed in the cell. Mac took that as his cue and grabbed the guard closest to himself. 

As skilled as he and Murdoc both were at fighting, the fight didn’t last long and didn’t end in their favour. 

Mac went down with an elbow to the face and a taser to his gut. As he crumpled to the floor, Mac heard Murdoc yelp in pain as he, too, was shocked by a taser. 

Mac could do nothing but watch through blurred vision as Murdoc was dragged from the room. The door slammed shut, the noise echoing through his mind as he shivered on the ground. 

* * *

“Can you hurry up and torture me already? I’m getting bored,” Murdoc drawled. 

He’d been tied to a rusty metal chair in a mediocre interrogation room for ten minutes now, the dime-a-dozen thug doing nothing but stare at him the whole time as she deliberated over the tools at her disposal. It was a rather dull experience for Murdoc, all things considered. 

“You can’t rush art,” his would-be torturer commented as she stalked towards him. 

“Oh please, I’m an assassin, I know how torture works,” Murdoc rebuked with an eye roll. “It’s _really_ not that difficult, you just apply the right amount of pressure _anywhere_ on the body and you’ll elicit a pain response.  _Sure_ , some parts of the body  _are_ more sensitive than others, but it’s not that hard to remember where those are, even someone with the IQ of a banana, like yourself, can do that.” 

Pain burst across the side of Murdoc’s face as the thug’s hand connected with a harsh smack, her large ring digging into his cheek. 

Murdoc took a breath, grinning as he slowly turned his head back to his captor. The thug flinched back as Murdoc spat at her, blood mixing with saliva across her face. 

Murdoc laughed. “See, told you it wasn’t that hard. Keep going, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of this.” 

The woman grabbed roughly at Murdoc’s hair tugging harshly as she pulled his head back. Murdoc grinned up at her as she leaned over him. 

“Shut up,  _Fourteen_.” 

“Oh, sweetheart, it takes a lot to get me to shut up.” 

The woman nodded to the guard standing behind Murdoc as she let go of his hair. As soon as she did, a cloth covered Murdoc’s face and wrenched his head painfully back. Cold water hit the cloth, seeping through the material instantly. Murdoc tried not to breathe it in, but it was impossible. Water fell into his lungs and instinct took over. He tugged frantically against his restraints, metal biting into his arms as he struggled. 

Not even a minute later, the water stopped and the cloth was removed. Murdoc shot forward, lungs spasming as he coughed up water again and again. He sat up slowly as he struggled to regain his breath, the occasional cough wracking his frame as he stared up at his torturer. 

“Don’t be such a tease.” He grinned shakily. 

The woman nodded and the cloth returned. Again and again, water choked him. Again and again, Murdoc was brought to the brink before being allowed to breathe. 

“Who hired you?” the woman asked for the tenth time. 

“I’m going to remember this, and when I get out of here, I’m going to take my time to kill you both. Slowly.  _Personally_ ,” Murdoc promised through gritted teeth, body shaking from the trauma. 

The woman sighed in frustration. “This is getting us nowhere,” she commented to the guard. 

The bucket was placed to the side. Murdoc couldn’t help the relief he felt at that, though he didn’t show it. The woman unrolled one of the cases set on the table at the side of the room. She pulled out a long, thin piece of metal, almost like a needle. 

She turned, devious smirk in place as she sauntered over to her captive audience, playing with the needle in her hands. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier, about how some parts of the body are more  _sensitive_ -” Murdoc grunted as the woman planted the heel of her boot firmly on top of his crotch, demonstrating her point, “-than others.” 

Finally looking away from his face, the woman took hold of Murdoc’s right hand, forcing his index finger back. The guard grabbed Murdoc by his hair as he tried to fight her off. Held in place by both the guard and his restraints, there wasn’t much he could do. 

“Did you know that one of the most sensitive parts of the human body is the ulnar never, which runs all the way from your neck-” she jabbed the needle into his neck and Murdoc flinched as he glared at her, “-down your shoulder to your fingers?” she dragged the needle down his body as though tracing the path of the nerve. 

“Yes, I did actually.” 

The woman tightened her grip around his finger, pulling the tip down. Murdoc gritted his teeth, refusing to break eye contact first. The needle was pushed slowly beneath his nail. Murdoc grunted, breathing harshly and baring his teeth. 

One by one, the needle was pushed into his fingertips. Each time, the same question was asked. 

“Who hired you, Fourteen?” 

By the time she reached his right hand, Murdoc was slumped against his seat. The guard had finally let go of his hair. 

“Come closer and I’ll tell you,” he muttered with defeat. 

The woman leaned in. 

Murdoc lashed out like a snake, biting the woman’s ear and not letting go as she screamed. The guard pulled futilely at his hair, attempting to help. Murdoc held his ground, digging his teeth in further and trying to shake his head. The door to the cell was thrown open, a squad of guards flooding the room. 

Pain exploded at the back of his head and Murdoc finally let go, ears ringing and vision momentarily whiting out from the blow. Blood rolled down his chin and flooded his mouth, something warm siting on his tongue. Murdoc tried to blink the world into focus, shaking his head slightly. He spat at the floor, a chunk of ear flying out along with a mouthful of his torturer’s blood, adding to the morbid decoration of the room. He laughed wildly, exhausted from the torture session but validated from his minor victory. 

The woman was a beautifully grizzly sight, blood gushing from her torn ear, painting her face and neck. Enraged, she struck back quickly, grabbing two fingers from his left hand and yanking them backwards, twisting them harshly. A yell was torn from Murdoc’s throat as burning pain rushed from his fingers, shooting all the way to his elbow. He snapped his jaw shut quickly, baring his still-bloodied teeth in a snarl. 

The woman was pulled from the room quickly, one of the guards pressing bandages against her damaged ear. The other guards surrounded Murdoc completely. 

“Don’t suppose I could have some of that water?” Murdoc asked with a grin, nodding towards the waterboarding bucket. “Her blood tastes quite terrible.” 

The guards parted and a whip was revealed. His night was not yet over. Not by a long shot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I cover all the warnings for this chapter in my notes & tags, but please let me know if I missed anything. 
> 
> The next chapter won’t be up as quickly, as I’ve got a test at the end of the week I need to revise for, but I'll try to get it up as soon as possible.


	3. Sympathy For The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac tends to Murdoc's wounds and works on forming an escape plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, first, I'm sorry this took so long y'all! My workload seemed to triple right after I posted last time. And for some reason, this chapter was really hard to write. Secondly, I did some minor updates of the last 2 chapters, but it was mostly just spelling corrections. 
> 
> Now, here's the warnings. There's some bruises and injuries resulting from being beaten, as well as the aftermath of Murdoc's torture from the last chapter. There's also some rudimentary first aid and some scars from previous injuries.

Mac coughed, arm around his aching chest as he lay on the frozen ground. He groaned as he shifted, trying to assess the damage that had been done to his chest by both the torture and the tasers. He had no doubt that his torso was a mottle pattern of bruises, particularly his ribcage.

Dragging himself upright as soon as his ribs didn't feel like they had a knife imbedded in them, Mac shivered and paced the cell. Lying on the dirty concrete floor for so long, while soothing for his painful ribs, had certainly not helped him retain body heat.

He rubbed his hands together, scanning the room carefully as he tried to mentally catalogue everything of use within the cell. He couldn't afford to think about the eerie silence following Murdoc's departure, or what the Butcher might have planned for either of them.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much in the room. It was, perhaps, a little bigger than the prison cell he’d shared with El Noche, but it lacked the small comforts of an actual prison. There was no window, no natural light, no view into another captive's cell. There wasn’t even a bed frame for the tiny, would-just-about-fit-two mattress. Still, at least they had a toilet. It was cheap and dull metal, with a small, dirty sink attached to the back, but it was significantly better than a bucket.

Other than that, the cell was empty, no pipes filtering the air, no cracks in the concrete, no visible weak spots. Judging by the sound reverberations and air quality, the complex was pretty deep underground too. Which meant, even if they _could_ somehow make a hole in the wall or floor with their mediocre supplies, it would take far too long to tunnel them to freedom after that. Which left them the options of breaking through the cell door or taking out the guards the next time _they_ opened the door.

Not a lot of options there. Still, it was better than Cairo.

* * *

It seemed to be hours before the silence was broken by the shuffle of approaching guards. Three of them, judging by the noise, plus something heavy being dragged.

Mac backed away from the door, retreating to a defensive position in the far corner. 

The door groaned as it opened and barely a second later, a bloodied, bruised and sweat-covered body was thrown carelessly into the cell. A few supplies were thrown in next, and Mac’s mind started cataloguing them without conscious thought. Safety pins, a ratty blanket, packs of bandages, gauze, and medical tape were all tossed in, two bottles rolling in behind. 

The door slammed shut and Mac watched the still form on the floor. Distantly, he recognised the body as Murdoc. As the guards moved down the hall, Mac waited with bated breath for any sign of life from his cellmate. 

Dread pooled in his gut as he eyed the blood soaking Murdoc’s back. He couldn’t quite tell how bad it was, how much blood Murdoc had lost, whether it all belonged to him, if it might be covering signs of a worse injury. It wasn’t until he was kneeling beside Murdoc- he couldn’t quite recall moving to the man’s side, but there he was- that Mac could truly see the extent of the injury. 

It was so much worse up close. Murdoc was shirtless, giving Mac a full view of his back. It was a mess, covered in blood and torn to ribbons. Nausea warred with the dread already residing in his gut as Mac realised what, exactly, caused those lacerations. Murdoc had been _whipped_. 

Swallowing harshly, Mac made an aborted move to help as Murdoc shifted. With admirable speed, the assassin was able to get his knees under him. Mac winced with sympathy at the pain which even such a small movement must be causing. 

He grabbed the bottle of water they’d been given. “Let me rinse the wounds, then I can help you to the bed and try to do something about your back.”

Murdoc gave a quiet, harsh laugh, cut off into a cough. “Don’t worry, Boyscout, I’ve had worse.” 

Mac frowned. “Just let me help you.” 

Murdoc looked up at him and Mac held back a grimace at his face, which was covered in sweat and had another sizeable bruise forming on his left cheek. Murdoc’s eyes stared into his own. Mac wasn’t sure what the assassin had been searching for, but he evidently found it, as he reached out a shaking hand to take Mac’s outstretched arm. 

With a sigh of relief, he pulled Murdoc to his knees. Mac guided Murdoc’s hand to his shoulder, allowing the assassin to lean on him as he opened the water bottle. Mac rested his hand on Murdoc’s neck, moving his head down slightly to give himself better access to the injury. He poured the water across the lacerations, trying to clean them of debris while saving enough water for Murdoc to drink. 

When that was done, he placed the water to the side and gripped Murdoc firmly around his elbow and under his arm. Murdoc tightened his own grip as Mac began to pull them both up. It was surprisingly easy going from there, though it was only a few steps to the mattress. Mac allowed Murdoc to make himself comfortable on the thin bed as he went back to collect their first aid supplies. 

“You’re not allergic to iodine, are you?” Mac checked. 

“No, why?” 

“They gave us a bottle of Betadine.” 

That was interesting. Not just because it implied their captors wanted to keep them alive badly enough to provide real medical supplies, but also because it brought about the question of where, exactly, their torturers got said supplies. _Maybe the Butcher has doctors on his payroll as well as LEOs_. 

Narrating his actions as he went, Mac disinfected the wounds with the bottle of iodine and a small square of gauze. He used the rest of the gauze to try and help stem the bleeding. Luckily- _or, well, as lucky as this situation could be_ \- the injury was confined to the right side of Murdoc’s back, making it easier to treat. The rest of Murdoc’s back was not unmarred, however. Several old scars- _a handful of bullet wounds, several knife marks, a stab wound perilously close to a kidney, and a burn across his side_ \- littered his back. The number 14 was branded into his left shoulder blade. Mac bit his lip. The branding was recent, less than two weeks old, obviously done by the Butcher’s people. He couldn’t help wondering what else had been done to his rival in the week he’d been there.

Forcing his mind back to the present, Mac looked down at Murdoc’s face. “Any other injuries I should know about?” he asked as he wrapped the ace bandage around Murdoc’s shoulder, using a strip of medical tape and a safety pin to keep it in place. 

Murdoc shifted, holding out his left arm. “A broken finger. I need you to set it.” 

Mac’s brow furrowed further. Murdoc’s middle finger was twisted at a painful angle, starting to swell and grow pink at the mid joint. His ring figure was bruising rapidly but didn’t appear broken. Each of his fingernails were ugly shades of red and blue, dried blood staining the tips. 

“I don’t have any pain killers,” he warned. 

“I know.” Mac huffed in quiet amusement. Murdoc sounded as chipper as ever, as though they were discussing the weather.

Mac took Murdoc’s hand. It was large and warm, the skin rough on his palm. Calluses and tiny scars littered his hand, warn in place from his chosen trade. Mac’s heart thumped suddenly, and he swallowed. He wasn’t sure why he was anxious about doing this. He’d set plenty of bones before, many of them worse injuries than this one. 

He carefully took hold of the injured finger, preparing to set it. “There was some kind of commotion earlier,” he commented, mostly as a distraction, “I heard what sounded like a woman screaming and guards started running through the hall. Know anything about that?”

“Oh, that was on _me_ ,” Murdoc’s voice broke on the last word as Mac shifted the broken bones back into place. 

“How so?” Mac asked as he set about taping the injured finger to Murdoc’s bruised ring finger. 

“I bit the woman,” Murdoc stated, as though that explained anything. 

Mac raised an eyebrow. “What woman?” 

“My main torturer. As far as I know, she’s the only woman I’ve seen in this place. She’s a sadistic bitch who likes to believe that torture is art,” Murdoc clarified. 

Mac blinked. “You don’t agree?” he asked as he reached over for the ratty blanket they’d been given. 

“Calling torture ‘art’ implies it’s something skilful, something that not everyone can do and, as I’m sure you’re aware, _anyone_ can torture, there’s no particular skill required. Don’t you agree?” 

“Oh, I definitely agree,” Mac replied, pausing in his inspection of the blanket to watch Murdoc’s face. “I’m just surprised you think so too, given how you talk about murder.” 

Murdoc shifted, tucking his left arm under his head in an effort to get more comfortable. “Torture and murder are two different things, Boyscout, and while I’m not _above_ torture, and let’s be honest, very few people are, I’ve never had much use for it.” 

“You were going to torture me,” Mac pointed out. 

“You know as well as I do that torture is not an effective interrogation method. I was merely trying to scare you all into moving Cassian so I could find him. I was worried about my son, what else was I meant to do?” Murdoc sounded genuinely confused that there might have been another option available. 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe _not_ kidnap someone,” Mac drawled. 

“Easy for you to say, Boyscout. Whatever you want, your Matilda can get for you. _I_ have to... get a little more _creative_ to get the things that I need.” 

Mac clenched his jaw, furrowing his brows as anger swept threw him. He opened his mouth to snap back at Murdoc but stopped short as he caught sight of the bloodied bandages around Murdoc’s torso. Now wasn’t the time. 

Mac sighed. “Just... try to get some rest, Murdoc, you being sleep deprived won’t help either of us.”

Murdoc gave him an odd look as Mac threw the thin blanket over the assassin’s back.

Murdoc’s eyes flitted down to the blanket before staring back at Mac. “Never knew you cared, Boyscout.” The comment lacked Murdoc’s usual flare, sounding almost serious.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to _that_.

* * *

“So, what’s the plan, Angus?”

Mac sighed and turned his head to look at Murdoc. “Not exactly sure at the moment. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of options.”

“How so?”

“Well, unless you wanna stay here for a couple years, there’s no way I can see for us to tunnel through the wall-”

“Hm, tempting as that is, Boyscout, I think I’ll pass.”

Mac huffed in amusement. “Which means we either have to ambush the guards the next time they open the door or get through the door ourselves.” Mac dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Only problem is I don’t have a plan to get through the…” he trailed off, narrowing his eyes at the light. “Huh.”

“What?”

“I think I have a plan,” Mac said, contingencies and potential problems already flitting around in his mind.

* * *

It was both surprisingly easy and unexpectedly difficult to fall asleep on the same mattress- he _refused_ to think of it as the same bed- as Murdoc. If the army had taught him anything, it was how to fall asleep practically anywhere at the drop of a hat. But he also knew better than to sleep in such close proximity to an enemy and, no matter what Murdoc said about needing each other, he and Murdoc had been enemies for far longer and far more often than they’d been allies. 

Still, fall asleep Mac did.

It wasn’t a long sleep or restful sleep.

Guards stormed the cell within the hour and Mac jolted to full wakefulness, staggering to his feet. He threw a punch at the first guard at the same time as he shouted for Murdoc to stay where he was. Thankfully, Murdoc listened, stilling where he was knelt on the mattress.

The guards made quick work of subduing Mac, twisting his arm and punching him in the gut. He dropped to the floor, arm around his torso, gasping as he tried to make his diaphragm cooperate again. He was hauled upright quickly by two guards, who dragged him, stumbling from the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've worked out the majority of the plot, but I haven't quite hammered down the timeline. I can say (minor plot spoiler?), the boys'll spend around 5 more days in this place, though I probably won't be detailing every day with 3-4 chapters like I'm doing for Mac's first day. So, if you have particular feelings about the boys spending more time in the 'prison' (like 8+ more days), please let me know in the comments or on my [tumblr](https://disasterinspace.tumblr.com/).

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know if I missed any tags or warnings that you think should be added. 
> 
> Comments & kudos are my lifeblood, I will be forever grateful to anyone who gives me either/both.


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